


Overburden

by thatgbppfrom10880MP



Category: Iron Man (Comics), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-13
Updated: 2018-06-13
Packaged: 2019-05-21 21:29:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14923172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatgbppfrom10880MP/pseuds/thatgbppfrom10880MP
Summary: A little piece about Tony Stark, after the death of his parents.





	Overburden

**Author's Note:**

> Overburden is a mining term, used for waste material that is in the way of the desired ore. Sometimes it is used to “restore” the exhausted area.

His computer beeped, insistent that he answered his call. J.A.R.V.I.S. spoke, but his mind was too deep within his own world to pay any attention. The AI was of no aid, muddling his thoughts as they brought him back to his youth when his caretaker was still alive, and more importantly, when his parents were still here.

“Tony,” Jarvis called, yet he continued to run. He didn’t care. He would give advice, sooth the pain, but he couldn’t stop the world from being what it was, and in his experience, it was complete bullshit.

He stopped, eventually, and hid. No one else knew where to find him, but he knew Jarvis would come, in time, letting him stew. He needed to burn out the sadness and frustration.

It was a clear night, and the air felt vibrant and fresh. The grass around him was springy and alive. He hated that the world couldn’t reflect his own emotions. He hated the peace that bloomed around him. So he cried.

He felt like a child, and he was, but that didn’t stop him from hating himself. He would always be a child somewhere inside. He would always need his Jarvis to calm him. He would always miss his father. He would always feel pain.

He had other ways of handling it, and Jarvis tried. Stane tried, but he was a different sort of caretaker. So Tony drank and lost himself in others, because otherwise, he would be like this: a broken, lost child.

It’s all he could remember, the lack of hugs, the lack of “I love you,” and the lack of a goodbye. He played it through his mind, over and again. What if he never said goodbye, because one day, he could see his parents again? People go into hiding. They disappear; they return. Who could truly say that it was their bodies, they found in that car, that dusty road? It could be lies, to protect them, to protect him.

But the clear skies do not lie. The world is cruel and cold to the life around it. It cares for nothing, and his parents are dead. His mother, his father. He misses his mother, but in a different way. He knew her love; she knew his. There were too many unspoken conversations with his father. He tried, for Jarvis was worried, but he knew his sobriety couldn’t last. He needed to disappear. He couldn’t be a child any longer; he needed to hide it away, that lost, crying self.

He heard Jarvis’ footsteps through the grass. “Tony,” he said. He said more, but he couldn’t pay attention to his soft voice, ultimately fruitless. He never got to say goodbye. He never got to tell his father he loved him. What more was there for him than permanent absence?


End file.
